Fractured
by hanadai
Summary: More than anything, it always felt that when Kyouya let her hold him like this it was more for her benefit than for his. She dreaded the day that he would be big enough to push her away. She feared that then he would be out of her reach forever.


It was a shock; the day the Suou boy had so easily breezed into their home and, in absence of the friend he had come to visit, offered to play the piano for them. The three siblings exchanged somewhat significant glances with each other. For a long time now, the piano had sat in their lounge like some kind of hulking monster, maintained only by the household staff – a silent testament to their mother, and a house that had once been filled with music and laughter. It had been almost ten years since the instrument had been _touched_ by any of them, never mind played and, as if in emphasis of the instrument's purely symbolic purpose, the piano stool had long since been removed.

Fuyumi was under the impression that Yuuichi had locked it and disposed of the key.

She darted sidelong glances at her two brothers. Yuuichi looked impassive, but Akito's discomfited expression told her that his thoughts were on a similar wavelength to hers.

One of them must have signaled their acquiescence as a servant materialized with a chair and Tamaki settled before the piano, flipped up the lid with an easy bright smile and began to ripple through a composition, seemingly from memory.

He had no comprehension of what he was doing to them.

* * *

><p>So far as Fuyumi knew, her parents had engaged and married young. Her father had been a different man back then, and their marriage had not been the result of a lengthy search and negotiations with a family with enough of a lineage to provide a bride worthy to join the Ootori family, but rather the result of a true romance between two people who loved each other deeply.<p>

Yoshio had indeed been a completely different man. Ruthless in business he had always been, and he had always been certain to hold his children to a stringent behavior code where social occasions were concerned. But he had been a softer man behind closed doors and amongst family; a warm, kind, loving father. In truth, they had lost two parents at that time. When their mother died, it had been almost as if their father had died with her.

Kanako had been a radiant, vibrant woman; principal violinist with the Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra. When she was home, she would crowd them around the piano, holding her youngest in her lap. And when she played, Fuyumi remembered, it was like the room filling up with light. Their mother had simply exuded joy – for her work, for her music, her life – and it counterbalanced the serious Ootori personality (which her brothers had inherited in spades) perfectly.

It was Kanako's violin playing that had made Yoshio fall for her – but to hear their mother on the violin – her true forte – they had to watch her in concert. To visit her at work, so to speak. In the home, she preferred to play the piano – she explained, showing Fuyumi fingers grooved and raw from a long day of practice, that although she loved the violin, it would be a little like work for her. For that reason, her piano was the centerpiece of the household, and she was careful to instill her love and passion for music in her children the same way that Yoshio taught his business ethics.

They first realized something was amiss towards the end of the summer before Kyouya was born. The Tokyo Philharmonic Orchestra held a performance in Hibiya Park and, despite being held in the evening, the weather was still exceptionally hot. Fanning themselves in the heat, Yuuichi and Fuyumi had watched the performance – in a light summer dress, Fuyumi felt nothing but pity for her brother and father in their heavy starched suits, and considerably more for the orchestra itself, bowing away in the heavy summer heat. Holding a fidgety Akito in her lap (although they had the best seats in the house he was still a bit too small to see), they watched together, Fuyumi occasionally murmuring in his ear little tidbits of knowledge about the performance, the pieces, the instruments.

There was something about their mother that night. Although she handled the music with consummate skill and grace, she was something… so much more that Fuyumi couldn't quite put her finger on. Frantic was not the word – nor frenzied but… she seemed so driven that night, her mother…

But shortly after the performance ended and the audience retreated to more air-conditioned facilities, they were quietly informed that their mother had fainted backstage. Their father, predictably, had already disappeared to be by her side. Quickly, Yuuichi grabbed Akito's other hand, tugging him – and by extension, Fuyumi – along to follow.

Kanako was sitting up by the time they got to her dressing room, trying to laugh away her family's worry. Gently she kissed the top of Akito's head as he rushed to her bedside and buried his head in her lap. She stroked his hair, reaching for Fuyumi's hand to draw her closer as their father delivered his official diagnosis: the pregnancy and the heat had both taken their toll on his wife and caused her to faint. There was no cause for concern – their mother had suffered with anemia throughout all her previous pregnancies – she had simply pushed herself too far. But Kanako, Yuuichi and Fuyumi could all see the faint remnants of worry Yoshio was trying to hide. It was rare for him to be so transparent.

"See, Aki-chan?" Kanako turned her attentions back to her youngest son. "Mama just got tired from carrying the baby inside her for so long." Akito pouted, a frown drawing his eyebrows together.

"It's all the baby's fault."

She laughed easily, trying to get him to smile.

"He's tired of _being_ carried too. Your baby brother's strong-willed just like you." Trying to sway Akito was a losing battle and they all knew it. He was older now than Fuyumi had been when _he_ was born, but he seemed extremely unwilling to make way for a younger sibling. "Or maybe my playing was just that bad. He was kicking the whole way through like he had every intention of making his presence felt."

"Strong boy." Yoshio commented quietly. Fuyumi couldn't see his face, but she could tell he was smiling proudly.

* * *

><p>In the days after their mother's death - nearly five years later - their house became silent, dark, and empty as a crypt; the three youngest siblings left to rattle around it on their own. Yoshio had locked himself away in his study for days now – chasing up Kanako's autopsy, searching for answers – leaving Yuuichi to organize the funeral; so it fell to Fuyumi to keep her brothers to routine and protect them from the ugly rumours already circulating about their mother's death.<p>

Kanako had been in Osaka for a concert with the orchestra when it had happened. Their opening night had received a fanatical reception, but Kanako failed to attend one of the customary parties held afterwards for their trustees.

She had been found cold and unmoving at the bottom of one of the hotel staircases.

They had no answers, and although their family was powerful enough to quash the rumours before they could take hold, Fuyumi knew the popular theory.

It made her want to scream – these horrible people who were claiming their mother had committed suicide; had thrown herself down that staircase, clearly knew nothing about her.

* * *

><p>On the third day she had to rush home, cursing her bad luck. Clattering into the house, she had not heard the sounds at first. It was only once she had set down her flute case and slipped off her shoes that the soft notes reached her ears.<p>

Someone was playing the piano in the reception room, sounding out the notes with hesitant stabs of fingers.

She padded across the vast halls to investigate. The doors were ajar, and slid open soundlessly on well-oiled hinges. What she saw almost brought her to tears.

Kyouya was standing by the piano, a straight-backed little shadow. Still wearing his school uniform and a look of intense concentration, he was picking out a tune one-fingered – not always confident, not always in time, but at the very least sounding the right notes in the right order. Fuyumi was hit with the memory of a toddler she had seen only a few years ago, giggling raucously in his mother's lap, little fists reaching out to hit at the keys with wild abandon. The contrast could not have been starker.

_Was this even the same child?_ She thought sadly, the next feeling like a clawed hand clutching at her heart. _Was he ever going to be a child again?_

"That's Mother's piano." A voice startled her from her reverie – and Kyouya too, judging by the sudden halting of the music. She had assumed that Kyouya was alone but… that was Akito's voice. She hesitated, not sure what to do. Given the circumstances, maybe Akito would be civil…

She continued to observe. Kyouya watched him levelly for a moment before turning his attention to the keys again, pressing the keys with the same hesitance as Akito stepped into view, moving to the side of the piano, resting a hand on the wood.

"Kyouya," he chipped in again, nastily, "If you don't leave it alone, it's going to _bite_ you."

With no further warning, he slammed the lid shut on his younger brother's fingers.

The bang of wood on wood, and Kyouya's subsequent yelp of pain, echoed through the house like a gunshot. She rushed across the room just as Yuuichi – thank God for Older Sibling Radar – strode through the west door with a face like thunder. Trusting her to take care of Kyouya, he seized Akito tightly by the arm and frog-marched him out of the room. She didn't dare imagine how Akito would fare under their older brother's temper. With their father cloistering himself away, Yuuichi had been pushing himself hard the past few days trying to keep things running smoothly. He was usually as even-tempered as she was, but she knew he wouldn't stand for Akito's behavior.

She dropped to her knees in front of her youngest brother, gently examining his hands before pulling him into a tight hug, stroking his hair. Kyouya's small mouth had been pressed into a thin line, but any further expression he kept hidden well behind his glasses. He'd been hurt, of course he had, but he was stubborn and more than a little prideful. He would never publicise the fact, would never rise no matter how Akito tried to bait him. He only leaned his head against Fuyumi's shoulder in silent acknowledgement of her support. It was always this way. He never fussed, never cried, had always been such a serious child.

More than anything, it always felt that when Kyouya let her hold him like this it was more for her benefit than for his. She dreaded the day that he would be big enough to push her away. She feared that then he would be out of her reach forever.

"I don't care if he doesn't like me." From anyone else, the words might have sounded surly, perhaps even petulant. They were muffled against her shoulder. "I just want him to respect me." She couldn't find anything to say to that, just held him a little closer, feeling his small arms around her waist. When his voice came again it was softer and quietly resolute.

"I'll show him one day. I will."

* * *

><p>Author Note: At the moment, this is just a series of short snippets that are slightly too long to be drabbles. What I've posted so far are the ones that I've tweaked to my satisfaction... there's no real plot in mind. If I can get the rest up to a decent standard, I will hopefully post it as soon as possible.<p> 


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